


Reduced to a pet

by Ulqueleh (Ulquii)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Arena, Begging, Blood, Blood and Injury, Edgeplay, Edging, Emperor Lotor (Voltron), Extremely Dubious Consent, Frottage, Gladiator Shiro (Voltron), Gore, Graphic Description, Hand Jobs, I dont know if its too graphic so please be careful, Im just so scared of missing a tag, Loss of Limbs, Lotor Week 2020, M/M, Power Imbalance, Read the notes please, Really be careful, Rutting, Shiro (Voltron) Loses His Arm, Submission, THAT'S IT THANK YOU AO3, be mindful of the tags, but theres a lose of a limb here, please read the tags, read the notes, why isn't there a tag for that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26136244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulquii/pseuds/Ulqueleh
Summary: Shiro flinches, but can’t pull away, and Lotor keeps touching slowly, caresses meant for soothing a lover rather than whatever Shiro is right now.A pet, his subconscious supplies when he whimpers, the Emperor softening his touch and calming him down. His cock still stirs, but the hardness of it, of the edge of an orgasm, recedes considerably.-- When Shiro faces his first defeat and a lost battle means dying, he's surprised when he wakes up next to the man who decides who lives and who don't.
Relationships: Lotor/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: Lotor Week 2020





	Reduced to a pet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi, I'm here. 
> 
> I know the tags have said it already but please, PLEASE, there is a brief description of lose of a limb here and I'm not sure if it's too graphic or not, but you can skip it by jumping from **'He was tired, and losing hope,'** to **'There was no way he could fight without an arm.'**
> 
> I kept myself from posting this on Twitter because of this, so, yeah, careful over here, please.

Shiro was going to die.

It wasn’t so hard to guess. He had been hanging from dear life ever since that first fight, ever since he had to stain his hands with blood —it had been against a man the same age as him. They were both scrawny and still too young to hold a weapon properly. He remembers how every cut made by his opponent on his body was too shallow and clumsy, the sword weighting down his movements.

He had been lucky, that first time, and the next and the next. It was never because of his fighting capacity, since he had started in the arena at a very young age and all the swords were too heavy or big for him. It was until he had luckily survived all his fights, until he turned 19 and he was meant to start fighting real battles —life-or-death battles, where the Emperor sometimes could be watching from the tallest seat in the coliseum and would rule if the loser would die or not— that he started practicing with a real technique.

He forgot his love for astronomy, for his peaceful nights where he could get away by looking at the little specks of light, ignoring the yells and clashing of swords that was happening just a few doors away.

And even so, he was too lucky. Most of the times, he would’ve died easily in the hands of his opponents. But by sheer luck he had dodged in time or stabbed unexpectedly.

A year in of not-lost battles and he won the title of “The Champion.”

Shiro hated it. Because all of those ‘victories’ meant someone else would have to die, by his own hand and sword or by the guards that had to stop them from running away. Just with a gesture of the tallest balcony, from the Emperor himself —Shiro considered him a bitter, unfair man who wished for more shed blood rather than the gift of life. Crueler than his deceased father and vicious to see innocent men die.

It was all wrong, and he wished he would have died that long ago, when his nose was slit by a too-close slash of a sword and instead of pulling away he would’ve tripped to the sharp edge and let it sink to his chest.

He was tired, and losing hope, so it wasn’t such a surprise for him when he actually tripped on his feet, and the axe from his opponent crashed the upper bone of his right arm, breaking skin too easily and ripping his muscles with a swift swing.

Blood was everywhere, the pained somehow dulled by the screams from the public and his own dizziness —in other moment he would’ve thought of the meal he was gifted earlier that day, how the apples felt too sour and the water too salty. But being poisoned wasn’t what had his mind rambling in despair, his eyes unfocused and lost in the limb that was not attached to his body anymore.

There was no way he could fight without an arm. There was no way he could fight his life back. Bile crept up his throat and he coughed against the need to throw up, hunching over himself. The smell of blood was horrifying, the hot rush of it falling from his severed wound, and gripping the side of his torso with his remaining hand and looking up from his kneeled position to his opponent, he noticed how the man was looking up and away, eyes waiting for the verdict from the new Emperor.

Shiro forced himself to do the same for a moment, just enough to watch the Emperor from the distance stand up from his throne and raise his fist, thumb turned to a side while he tilted his head, pretending to listen to what the audience wanted for his future. Or the lack of it, since the Emperor never forgave a life, he never let the loser live, showing how unmerciful and foul the ones on the power always were.

He let his eyes drop to the red-soaked ground in front of him, his knees wet with his own blood, and tried to take his last breathe before the axe cut his head off. The air was tainted with the metallic scent of his blood and from the death of other unlucky ones like him.

Shiro was going to die. And, deep inside, where the trauma and pain haven’t reached, he was okay with it. Or maybe they had reached and wanting to die wasn’t okay.

It didn’t matter, anyway.

But the slash to his head or neck didn’t come, and he was too absorbed by his shock, by his own swirling thoughts, that he didn’t hear the stunned gasp from the audience, freaked out by the thumb-up from the Emperor.

It wasn’t long when he lost consciousness due to the loss of blood, and he thought it was better to die like this than to be opened up in front of so many people. But the moment his eyes opened to a golden blinding light above him, his body feeling groggy and the pain wearily dulled, he groaned in disgust at still being alive.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

He startled, trying to move and see who was talking, but his legs were strapped to the bed he was on, and his remaining arm was bound to his side. He was naked, his bare chest just covered with bandages where his right arm would hang, and a soft sheet pulled just over his hips.

“W-what…”

The same voice, strangely warm and rich, shushed him, a slender hand falling to the center of his chest to keep him still with just a touch.

Shiro blinked a few times, trying to focus his sight to the man standing beside him, and when some of the clearer image revealed long white hair and dark skin coupled with two blue eyes, panic rushed through his body.

“Y-your highness,” he stuttered, throat raspy with disuse, and felt his stomach drop when he saw him smile.

“Lotor is fine,” the Emperor murmured, reaching for something out of his sight with the hand that wasn’t on Shiro’s chest and bringing a cup of water close to him, “At least in my chambers.”

Shiro felt his head turn even more at that, looking around and taking in the most elegant room he has ever been in. He doesn’t understand what’s happening; he doesn’t think he should be here.

“I-I,” he starts, the Emperor— Lotor, helping him seat up in the bed. Shiro is struck by how strong he is despite his looks, “w-what-”

“Drink,” Lotor orders softly, the cup of water now to his lips, and at the first sip Shiro realizes how thirsty he really is.

He downs the whole cup in two gulps, moving closer to tilt the cup for more, and he gasps when Lotor pulls it away again, hiding a chuckle while he pours more in it for Shiro. After a three or four cups of full water, Shiro finally feels less dry, and he gives the Emperor a watchful look when he smiles at him, the hand that was on his back, keeping him from toppling over, now slowly caressing the back of his neck, a shy from his buzzed hair.

It’s weird, because the man seating in beside him, giving him water and touching him gently enough to make his skin crawl didn’t seem like the same man that ordered the killing of many just for amusement.

And he doesn’t know if he should question it, because it was confusing being in the Emperor’s chambers after god knows how long after his first lost battle, after he lost his right arm —confusing enough, it felt extremely familiar not having it, as if he had somehow learnt in his long sleep that it was never part of him. The shock of seeing that empty space didn’t exist, and it troubled him to no end.

“Why am I here?” he asks, because he may have lived day-to-day in the arena, but at least he was familiar with it; this is completely foreign, “Why have you saved me?”

The Emperor’s smile shifted a bit, fingers pausing in Shiro’s nape, and when they started sliding to his right shoulder, right over the bandages around the remains of the limb, his gaze, powerful and fine, bore into Shiro’s eyes. There’s something in them he can’t quite name. Shiro can’t remember some point in his life when he has been watched like this, aside from the awed stare a young boy gave him when he was in his cage before a fight. The color on the Emperor’s eyes kind of resemble the young’s ones, but there’s something even more obscure, the bright wonder in the boy’s eyes being dim in the Emperor’s.

“Curiosity,” he murmured, his rich voice curling and his fingers tracing scar tissue and dark speckles that had appeared on Shiro’s skin after so many days under the sun, “Interest.”

Shiro gasped quietly when the hand fell to his pec, grazing over his nipple. The Emperor’s eyes fall to it for a second, just before going up to Shiro’s once again, something dark burning behind them.

“Attraction, if you will.”

With a push, Shiro was again on his back, the plush bed giving under his weight, and the Emperor was fast to climb over his lap, pressing his hands onto Shiro’s chest to keep him down.

“W-what- Wait!”

The emperor shushed him again while he struggled under him, chuckling at every fail attempt to get free from the shackles on his ankles and bound keeping his arm plastered to his torso.

“Once a fighter always a fighter,” the Emperor murmured amused, and Shiro kept squirming, “Do not worry, Takashi.”

He froze at the mention of his real name —the one he had been keeping hidden from everyone behind the sobriquet ‘Shiro’ and the stupid title ‘The Champion.’ He had been careful enough for nobody to know about him more than necessary. But of course, if one was going to find out sooner or later, it had to be the Emperor himself.

“That’s it,” Lotor sighed, one of his hands creeping up to grasp Shiro’s jaw, tightening briefly around his neck and making him gasp, “Do not fight.”

“Please,” he tried to plead, feeling the fingers of his other hand touching down his chest and belly, stopping a shy from the sheets covering his modesty, “please, Your Majesty, I-”

“Lotor,” he interrupted, eyes going up and down his body as if it was a meal to delight. Maybe he was, “Call me Lotor in my chambers, Takashi.”

He gasped when the hand squeezed him through the sheets, the thumb pressing hard over the slit. Shiro bucked his hips without thinking, partially blinded by the pleasure he had kept himself from a long while. It burned through him, his blood quickly running south, and his cock filled in the Emperor’s hand, pressing him over the clothe.

“Yes,” he sighed when Shiro groaned, hips moving into his palm, “ _Yes_.”

The orgasm climbed too fast too soon, the feeling of finally having sexual relief after too many months of not touching himself, of not finding comfort with it, made it unbearable. He almost didn’t noticed how the Emperor rutted himself against the juncture of his hip, the fine clothe of his trousers getting wetter with every rub.

“Oh,” he breathed, squirming in the need to hold to something —to get grounded— but he couldn’t with his left arm bounded and his right arm gone, “I-oh…”

“Lotor,” the Emperor repeats leaning over him, fingers grazing over his lower lip, “That is the name you have permission to moan; Lotor.”

“L-lotor,” Shiro gasps, back arching away from the mattress, about to fall from the edge. But then the hand on his cock pulls away, fingers splaying over his taut abs.

“A-ah, w-what…”

“You don’t have permission to come, Takashi,” the Emperor chuckles, grinding slowly against his hip but keeping Shiro from doing the same, “Not yet. You must earn it.”

Shiro is dizzy, trembling from a peak he didn’t reach, and he pants shallowly, feeling the prickle of tears behind his eyes.

“Oh, Takashi,” Lotor mutters, palm holding his face. Shiro can’t help tilting his head into the warmth, “Is this your first time? Have you never been touched like this?”

He whimpers, shaking his head. The pain on his arm is regressively starting to spark, and he doesn’t like how vulnerable he is completely bound.

“Oh, such a waste,” the Emperor coos, cuddling into his unharmed side and littering kisses on his neck and shoulder, “Having you fight in the arenas instead of like this, trembling and at my mercy, was a mistake.”

His hand slides up by Shiro’s chest, tips of fingers exploring the curves of muscle and the lines of scars, of wounds that never completely healed.

“But I believe this is part of your charm,” he murmurs with a smirk, nails scratching over a rosy scar that is still sensitive.

Shiro flinches, but can’t pull away, and Lotor keeps touching slowly, caresses meant for soothing a lover rather than whatever Shiro is right now.

A pet, his subconscious supplies when he whimpers, the Emperor softening his touch and calming him down. His cock still stirs, but the hardness of it, of the edge of an orgasm, recedes considerably.

“That’s it,” Lotor sighs, glancing down to it, the sheets wet from before, “Breath in.”

Shiro does without meaning to obey, his mind foggy to think for himself.

“Yes. Good boy.”

Shiro blinks up at him, arousal curling behind his navel at the praise, but he doesn’t have the urge to spill like before.

“Lotor,” he breathes, reverent and quiet, and he would’ve missed the way the Emperor’s breathe hitches if it wasn’t against his neck.

“ _Yes_.”

Shiro is about to doze off, too tired from whatever this was. But all of the sudden there’s a hand going beneath his sheets, encircling his half-hard cock and strokes. Shiro startles, hips moving into the hot palm in their own volition, and he starts to moan at the friction, the orgasm rushing up to him too good, too fast.

“Oh, you’re so _beautiful_ ,” he hears below the thump of his own heart in his ears, his face burning with embarrassment, “Yes, let it climb on you.”

The hand shifts every now and then, twisting over the head and tightening at the base. It’s too much and not enough. He wants it to keep going; he wants to fall from the edge and come. He’s just so close, burning so hot, and the moment his starts to see stars, the hand pulls away, having him thrusting uselessly against nothing.

“A-ah!” he screams uncontrolled, back arching and bending with the hope that something might catch on his cock, that something will finally push him into the blinding orgasm blurring the edge of his eyes.

He’s vaguely aware he had started crying.

“Oh, Takashi…”

“I-I…” he pants, but the Emperor just shushes him, leaning over him and kissing the scar on his nose, “I-I want…”

“Do not worry,” he repeats, nuzzling the side of his face, and just after he sighs he moans, hand moving where Shiro can’t see. Belatedly, Shiro realizes he’s touching himself, taking pleasure on having Shiro at the brink of orgasm, on not letting him finish, “I won’t hurt you, love.”

But Shiro feels once again that he’s going to die. His cock is painfully red, twitching and spilling precum over his belly, and Shiro needs to cum. He needs it.

“L-lotor,” he stutters.

“Yes, love?” Lotor asks, hand rapidly moving on his own cock, “What do you want?”

Shiro’s lower lip trembles, tilting his head to nuzzle Lotor’s neck, and he whines, “ _Please_.”

“O-oh, _Takashi_ ,” Lotor suddenly strains, whole body twitching against Shiro’s the same moment Shiro feels hot liquid spurt over his belly.

He doesn’t need to look down to know Lotor came over him, probably because of his begging. Instead Shiro stares wide-eyed at his expression, the Emperor’s mouth opening in a quiet groan, his cheeks stained in a dark red similar to wine, and eyes foggy in after-glow, and Shiro can’t help but move his own hips, searching for that bit of friction that would tip him over the edge.

“Oh,” Lotor breathes shakily, still trembling while his hand traces over his cum on Shiro’s belly, “That was… _oh_.”

Shiro whimpers, and Lotor looks down to him, bringing his clean hand to Shiro’s face and finally wiping the streaks of tears on his cheeks.

“P-please…” he murmurs like a mantra, and the Emperor shushes him again, kissing his tear-stained face, “Please.”

“Yes, Takashi,” he sighs, lips still pressed to his skin, “You may come now.”

A hand already wet with cum wraps around him, starting to move in eager and quick strokes. Shiro screams, thrusting up to the tight circle, and it’s not long when the orgasm crashes over him, eyes rolling back and whitening behind blinding stars. Lotor doesn’t stop touching him until he stops spilling over himself, when he whines in pain of overstimulation and he flinches away from him.

“So good,” Lotor says with a sigh, “Oh, such a good boy.”

Shiro takes a few breaths, his mind cloudy with pleasure and starting to fade.

“Lotor…” he exhales quietly, trying to blink away the fogginess darkening his sight, but with every flutter of lashes it spreads, “I…”

“Shush, my love,” Lotor mutters, kissing his eyelids and making him close them, “Just rest for now.”

And Shiro does.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!
> 
> ~
> 
> Come and yell with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ulqueleh)!


End file.
